


If Not For Kirkwall

by swooningtrash (littleoracle)



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games)
Genre: Canon-Typical Violence, Fluff, Language, M/M, Mild Gore, Other Additional Tags to Be Added
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-06-02
Updated: 2016-07-02
Packaged: 2018-07-11 18:07:51
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 3
Words: 2,847
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/7064494
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/littleoracle/pseuds/swooningtrash
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A collection of random fenhawke shorts that come flying out of my brain, often when I should be working on other things.</p><p>These are mostly set in the same universe as my Blades & Lyrium series (geez, never planned on it being a series!) though some might go all crazy AU. Might feature some other characters as well, in which case they'll be added to the tags.</p><p>Things stick pretty close to canon, with m!mage Hawke, friendmanced Fenris (even though I sided with mages, ha!) and leaving Hawke in the Fade (which I did not do in my playthrough because I just couldn't even though I feel like it makes some sense).</p><p>But honestly, all bets are off here. I'm just gonna play and see what happens.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Battleworn

They had been fighting for a full day with no rest, little water and less food. Fenris lost track of tired, stumbled through fatigue and now barely stood under his own power, utterly exhausted. Yet he spun on the spot, anxious and searching, ready to take on any comers.

He had lost sight of Hawke some time ago, the Templars’ attack splitting them up with brutal efficiency. Now the Chantry was in retreat as those who chose to side with Hawke and the mages gathered their strength and pushed back. They were winning, but Fenris felt a lead weight in his gut as he searched the inner courtyard for Hawke.

There, on the far North corner, the mage was fighting off three of the Chantry’s finest. A cheeky grin was still painted across Hawke’s face as he took them out one by one. A man who had defeated a Qunari Arishok was not to be trifled with in close quarters, as the Templars were quickly learning.

Fenris smiled, recognizing the particular glow from Hawke’s staff. The Templars were being knocked out, but he was not driving in a death blow unless he had no other option. It was this quiet compassion, even for his enemies, that made the man so unfathomably complex to those who did not know him.

Steadying himself, Fenris picked his way as quickly as he could through across the stone courtyard, the surface warmed by the sun and slick with patches of blood. He caught Hawke’s eye when the mage had dispatched the last of his foes. Garrett descended the steps in a few leaps, landing a little unsteadily at the bottom when he slipped in a patch of vomit.

When they met in the middle of the courtyard they said nothing to each other. They were a both a mess, Fenris covered in other warrior’s blood up to his elbows, Hawke caked in sweat and bile.

Neither smiled, standing there a step apart, breathing heavily and looking each other up and down for signs of grievous injury. A nod from each when they were satisfied that the scratches, scrapes and cuts they saw would be healed easily enough with a few potions. The healing of their hearts and minds… well, that would take longer, but they had each other.

Another nod and Hawke began to turn away. The battle was still raging in the main courtyard of the Gallows and Fenris could hear, almost feel, the dark weight of Meridith Stannard, calling Hawke out. Before letting the man go in pursuit of whatever Fate had in store for him, Fenris grabbed Hawke by the arm, turning him back and pulling him down for a long, fierce kiss.

They slid into each other, fitting their hands and hips together in a way that felt more like home than either had ever felt before. Maybe it was the bloodlust, but Fenris felt hope surge through him as they embraced, the fear from the start of the battle faded to nothing. They would win this fight and they would face whatever came next together.

Lips slowly parted, hands slipped from hips, and Fenris and Hawke stared into each other’s eyes for a long, silent moment, breathing hard. With a nod and a smirk, Hawke turned towards the outer courtyard, Fenris following close behind. Nothing would drive them apart again.


	2. A Brighter World

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Waaaay post-Inquisition. Fenris comes home from a hard morning of training the new city guard. Total fluff.

Kirkwall felt like home again. Gone for years, and now back for five, Fenris and Hawke had settled into life with a comfort that neither had ever known before. No hiding from Templars, no running from slavers, just a simple life.

Ana was a huge part of the reason for their stability. A little elvhen girl, theirs since birth, her parents killed in by raiders, had captured both their hearts and kept each man from doing anything too reckless. It was a true boon as middle age set in for both of them, aching bones and sore muscles meant their days of throwing themselves into battle on a daily basis would best be left behind them. 

Not that they didn’t miss it occasionally.

Fenris was returning from a training exercise with Aveline’s city guard. There were often new recruits who needed training and no one knew the Wounded Coast and its hideouts like Hawke and Fenris.

The warrior could feel a hint at the aches that would set in later. Raw recruits who barely knew how to hold a sword were the bane of his existence now. Clumsy, swinging hard and fast and wild, they kept him on his toes. 

It had rained all morning, the ache in his back that came with the dank weather was settling in for the long haul. It would be damp for a few more days, then. The new armor he wore, a gift from Hawke for his last birthday, still felt stiff in a few places. It would take another month of workouts before it was as comfortable as his old gear, though it did provide quite a bit more protection than the leathers he once wore.

The steady rain meant the streets of Kirkwall were quiet as he padded heavily along, cursing those who decided Hightown needed to be at the top of the hill with every set of stairs he climbed. Lowtown still smelled of piss and rot, but not quite so piquantly as it once did, and Varric’s most important work as Viscount had been clearing Darktown of the poor and rejected. Only the Carta and their like lived down there anymore.

Every time Fenris stepped through the upper gate dividing Hightown from the rest of the city, he felt a wave of gratitude. Not just that he had a place here, away from the struggles of those who scratched a living day to day, but because Hawke was waiting for him, and Ana, too. The ability to raise a child, never mind doing so in such comfort, was something Fenris would not have imagined for himself. 

He still struggled, still had nightmares, still battled his inner demons, though he rarely had to battle the outer ones anymore. But there was a little girl now, who depended on him, on her Papa Fenris. It made him fight more fiercely than he ever had before, even for his own freedom. 

The door to the Amell estate stood solidly before him, a barrier between the Hawke family’s inner world and the one outside that deigned to intrude on occasion. Fenris pushed it open and heard rapid, limping footsteps approach.

“Ser Hawke, welcome home.” 

Arlith had been one of Merrill’s charges. A good lad, with nimble hands for fixing things, but a foot that had not been right since he was pushed down a set of stairs by a Templar as a child. 

The young man had taken Bodhan’s place in the household, an older woman, Iona, now held Orana’s position, cooking and helping care for Ana. Along with a chambermaid and a few other servants, the house was full of elves, Hawke the only human among them. It had felt strange to Fenris at first, but now it was a comfort to see so many of his kind employed and safe under their protection. 

Arlith took Fenris’s armor, taking charge of making sure it was dried and hung properly in the small armory the Hawkes kept just off the entrance hall. 

“There is warm water in the washroom, if you wish it, Ser Hawke.”

Fenris grinned. The name had been his, signed and notarized, since they had returned to Kirkwall, yet it still felt strange to respond to it, especially with its original owner somewhere in the house.

“Please, Arlith, when no guests are here, I am Fenris to you and the others.”

Arlith nodded. “Yes, ser. Oh, and Master Hawke says to tell you he and Ana are baking today. They are in the kitchen when you wish to find them.”

The grin deepened on Fenris’s face. He had indeed noted a waft of cinnamon floating through the halls when he arrived. That meant apple pockets, Fenris’s favorite.

Washing up quickly, he changed clothes, trading the thick under armor wear for soft, white cotton and gave himself a quick sniff. Not perfect, but his family wouldn’t mind and he suddenly found a pull to be near them he could no longer ignore.

There was laughter coming from the other side of the kitchen door as Fenris approached. Ana squealed loudly, her footsteps echoed on the stone. He chucked when he heard Hawke’s “Oof! Why you little nug!” before opening the door and taking in the scene before him.

Flour hung in a cloud of fine dust in the air. There were three eggs smashed on the table, dripping onto the floor. Something was starting to burn on the stove. Both Hawke and their daughter were covered in the flour and baking powder and there may have been batter in Ana’s hair. It was all over their clothes, their hands, and their faces. Hawke looked like an old man, his hair dusted in white powder.

Each was in a defensive stance, primed to throw more flour at each other, their fists dripping with the stuff. They both stopped short when Fenris entered the room, staring at him.

For a long moment, he held them in a stern gaze and they began their apologies. But before long, a chuckle pushed its way to the surface, turning into a laugh when it emerged from Fenris’s mouth. It kept going, the sight before him so ludicrous he was unable to contain himself. 

He laughed until his chest hurt, tears running down his face as he slid down the door way to grab his stomach. The muscles that had been sore from a hard workout now ached from laughter. 

Hawke and Ana looked concerned, and rightly so, for Fenris felt he had gone a little mad, even if it was only temporary. 

When he finally was able to stop laughing long enough to pull himself back up from the floor, the world seemed a little lighter. His back did not ache so much now, as he wiped the tears from his eyes. 

“Papa?” Ana reached for him. There was indeed batter in her hair.

“Alright, love?” Hawke asked as he approached, Fenris nodding yes as he came closer.

He kissed Hawke, not bothering to avoid getting himself covered in flour as well as he wrapped his arms around him. Ana groaned an “Ewwww. Kissing.” behind them that made her fathers smile as they pulled away from each other.

“I am well. Better than ever, in fact.” He picked Ana up, tweaking her nose and making her giggle as he carried her toward the door. “Though if we are to eat whatever you managed to make in all this mess, we should get you two cleaned up.”


	3. Healthy

**Summary for the Chapter:**

> Hawke notices something different about Fenris.
> 
> Set after the reunion, some time before the end of Act III.

Knight Commander Meredith had pushed the Circle mages to the breaking point, though not everyone could see it yet. The Templars overstepped their authority and Orsino had no choice but to push back.

Kirkwall was awash in tension and on the brink of disaster, but at the moment Hawke didn’t give a shit. 

At the moment, there was an elf in his bed, above him and between his legs, in fact. Fenris’s lyrium glowed slightly as he came, buried deep in Hawke, who followed his lover into ecstasy but a moment later. 

He pulled on Fenris’s hips, making sure the warrior was buried to the hilt, as it were, inside him and Hawke laughed as the orgasm crested over him.

When both had caught their breath and cleaned up, Fenris curled up in Hawke’s arms as the mage stroked a hand through his hair, planting a firm kiss on the back of his head.

Fenris cleared his throat. “You… laughed, just before… did I do something wrong?”

Hawke’s breath was warm against his neck, a soft chuckle. 

“Not at all. The laugh… it didn’t have anything to do with your performance. Trust me.”

Fenris frowned, though he knew the man who held him close could not see it.

“Then what was so funny?” 

He asked earnestly. Each step they took was a new chance to understand how relationships might work, how they might work, for the long haul.

“I just noticed how much you’ve changed, Fenris.” 

Hawke had a smile to his tone, Fenris had learned to recognize it over the years, even when he couldn’t see the man’s face.

“When we first met, and for years after, you were on the run, not taking care of yourself.”

Fenris nodded. “Yes. I spent my energy on keeping watch. It was a necessary evil.”

Fenris felt the tickle of Hawke’s beard against his shoulder as the man pulled him closer.

“But since we’ve gotten back together. Since you killed Danarius, you’ve changed a lot.”

“I am truly free, and learning what that means. But Hawke, why did you laugh?”

“Well, don’t take this the wrong way, but you’ve… filled out.”

Turning in his arms so they faced each other, Fenris gave Hawke a puzzled look.

“Are you saying I’ve grown fat, Hawke?”

Shaking his head, Hawke chuckled. The sound came so easily to his lips despite the hardships he had faced and the others sure to come. It was one of the things Fenris admired him for at first and loved him for now.

“Not at all, but Fen…” Hawke moved the hair from his lover’s forehead, running fingers down his face to stroke his neck. “You used to always look so haggard, so run down, so… skinny. You never ate enough.”

Hawke had a thoughtful look on his face now. 

“That first night we were together… I only realized it just now how underfed you were. I had never been with an elf before and I know you are all naturally thin so I didn’t notice.”

Fenris smirked. “And that has changed?”

Hawke smiled, but there was no hint of mockery to the look he gave his lover. 

“Yes. I’ve been watching you eat regularly and you seem so healthy now. And grounded. Your fighting stance has even changed a bit. I’ve seen you brush off hits lately that used to knock you over like a leaf.”

Fenris nodded. “I do rather like Orana’s cooking, I have to admit.”

“And those apple tarts from that Hightown bakery,” Hawke teased.

“Yes, Hawke. Those as well. And I feel free to… I know I will not have to use my coin to ensure my security.”

With a nod, Hawke gave him a squeeze. “Your muscles have filled out, too. They’re very, uh, defined.”

“You like that, do you, Hawke?” 

Fenris leaned in and began kissing the mage’s neck. With a groan, Hawke pulled him in close, turning onto his back so Fenris’s weight was on top of him.

“You feel like you’re real, like you won’t just fly away on the next stiff breeze. You used to seem like a ghost just stopping by for a visit.”

Fenris, busily working a nice purple bruise into Hawke’s clavicle, paused at that. He looked up, meeting Hawke’s eyes. There was humor there, but Fenris saw the hurt he had caused as well. It wasn’t on the surface anymore, but it would be some time before he could convince the mage that he was here to stay this time.

“I am yours, Hawke. I swear it. No more running. Not from Danarius, and never again from you.”

Hawke smiled at that and the subtle line of tension he had been carrying loosened beneath Fenris’s weight. The elf leaned in for a long, deep kiss, Hawke’s fingers grasping his back at first before slowing into long soft strokes along his spine.

The movement was relaxing, making them both sleepy rather than escalating into something more intense. Before long their kiss faded naturally and Fenris shifted to lay next to Hawke once more. 

“You know, Hawke.” Fenris had a sleepy smile on his face as he settled comfortably into the warmth of their bed. “When we met you were living in Lowtown and I remember you were not eating regularly yourself.”

Hawke shifted and when he spoke his tone clouded with the beginnings of sleep. “S’right. I filled out too, as soon as I could. I like eating. I like having enough money to buy food and make us both into fat lumps.”

“Truly, Hawke? Fat lumps? But you are the Champion.” Fenris chuckled as his eyelids drooped.

Hawke’s words were slurred as sleep overtook him as well. “Yes. Lumps. Big ones. We’re gonna need bigger pants, Fen. Circus tents by the time I’m done with us. I’ll be the first Champion who rolls into battle instead of running.”

Fenris giggled, cuddling closer as he drifted, listening to Hawke’s breathing slow and deepen.

Sleep overtook them at last and they rested, well-fed and safe. They slept soundly that night, heedless of the battle that waited on their doorstep, and the journey to follow that would leave them both rangy and thin once more.


End file.
